Live and Let Die
by LeanaVine
Summary: MH. Tim tries to start a new life, but can't escape his past. One day, he wakes up in a world where everything is perfect: none of his friends are dead, and there's no one following him. This new world is bliss; Tim can't help but feel that it's all wrong. (Includes OC. Warning of depression, drug abuse, and possible sex. Includes Man/Man. Jam, Tim/Jay. Brian/Jessica. Alex/Amy.)
1. After and Tuesday

**IMPORTANT A/N: **This story contains major spoilers for everything in _Marble Hornets_, including the ending, because it takes place after the end of the series. So, this is your warning on that.

I came up with this story when I was supposed to be cleaning my room. I really kinda like it. Yes, this has an OC, but don't worry, he doesn't become a main character. He's just in a small percentage of the chapters. Everything orbits around Tim.

Please leave a review, and I'll put you on the wall of fame! I'll try to keep track as much as possible. If I miss your name, please tell me, and I'll take care of it right away, because I appreciate and love all of my readers.

As always, I do not share any views expressed by any characters in this story. And I own nothing in this story, besides Bradley and the other minor characters.

Okay, please read, review, and enjoy!

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><p><em>Everything is fine.<em>

That was the last anyone heard of Tim. By the time he'd uploaded the last entry, he'd already left Alabama, and somehow ended up in Oklahoma. Tim could hardly remember, but he thought he recalled the urge to head for Mexico as he was passing through Arkansas. However, after just entering Oklahoma, that feeling dissipated, and Tim pulled off to stay at a crusty motel.

He laid on the stiff, rented bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was dark, except for the crack of light that weaved its way through the curtain, coming from the streetlamp outside his window. He was unable to sleep. Tim had stopped having coughing fits since he left Alabama, and that partially made him nervous. You would think he'd be happy; no more coughing, no more tall _thing_ in a suit, no more…Alex.

No more Brian.

No more Jay.

_'God, Jay.' _Tim pressed his palms to his eyes, and took in a deep, shuddering breath. Even Jay was gone. Jay was the person Tim never wanted to lose. _'It should've been me.'_

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><p>Tim decided that it'd be best for him to stay in Oklahoma, try to start a new life. He remained in the motel for about five days while he hunted for an apartment. Tim didn't have much money left, so he had no other choice but to call a man named Bradley about becoming his roommate. They met up in a diner down the road from the motel Tim had been staying in. Tim even brought the newspaper with him, as if he'd have to show Bradley's ad back to him like an invitation to a party.<p>

Bradley had dark – almost black – hair, and a short goatee. He was smaller than Tim, but was in _really _good shape. Like, damn he must be a fitness junkie, one of those guys that scale mountains for fun. Bradley ordered a coffee and a turkey club; Tim ate nothing. He just sat with his elbows folded on the table, rereading the ad.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Bradley asked, his left cheek full of bread and turkey. He smiled, his thick eyebrows raising up to almost disappear into his hairline.

Tim sighed a laugh. "Is it that easy to see through me?"

"Like your dad was a glass maker." When Tim quirked a brow, Bradley waved it away. "It's a joke that's not really funny."

Bradley seemed like an outgoing guy, but he didn't push Tim or ask him what was wrong, or what led him here, and Tim appreciated that. After the twenty minutes they spent in the diner, there wasn't much need for debate. Tim was going to be Bradley's new roommate. Being the nice guy that he was, Bradley even told Tim not to worry about paying his half of the rent until he found a job. Tim wondered why Bradley automatically trusted him so much. Usually, he had the opposite effect on people.

However, Bradley was a bit questioning when Tim's only possessions fit in a backpack and a duffel bag. "Where's the rest of your stuff?" he asked when Tim arrived in his apartment building. "Is it back home?"

Tim cleared his throat, rubbing the strap of his duffel bag between his fingers. "This is…all I have." He could feel the tension as if it were palpable. Thankfully, Bradley just nodded, and they made their way upstairs.

Bradley's apartment wasn't too big – 2 bed, 1 bath, with a smallish living area and a kitchen with a two-seater table in the corner by the window. There was a communal washroom downstairs, but that didn't bother Tim. He was used to having to go to Laundromats to get his clothes cleaned while he and Jay were on the road together. He made a mental note to buy more clothes once he started making money.

Tim set his bags on his new bed, which was thankfully already dressed. There was a tall dresser in the room, a nightstand with a dim lamp, and a closet with a sliding door, but not much else. Once he was settled in, Tim walked back out to the living room, where Bradley was scanning the channels on the TV. "So, umm," Tim began, standing behind the couch, unsure if he wanted to sit down, "what happened to your old roommate?" When Bradley glanced up at him, Tim clarified, "I mean, why do you need a roommate now?"

Bradley turned back to the TV before answering, "Last roommate just moved in with his girlfriend. Kind of a 'spur of the moment' thing. Guy didn't really give me a heads up until he was practically already gone."

Tim decided it might be rude for him to not sit down, so he plopped on the couch, leaving space between himself and Bradley. "How long ago was that?"

"Just a couple weeks ago. The rent isn't too much or anything like that." Bradley chuckled. "Guess I just get kinda lonely living here by myself."

With a nod, Tim replied, "That's understandable. I, uh, I used to live with a guy for…a long time. Felt too weird not having him around." Tim swallowed. Thinking about Jay just turned his insides now, but it couldn't be helped.

"Oh yeah?" Bradley asked. "How long did you live with him?"

Tim tried to remember. He and Jay had started sticking together after Jay left Tim in the tunnel at Rosswood, and Tim went missing for some time. Jay had a fear of losing Tim again after that, so Tim stayed with him just to keep him from worrying. With time, Tim depended on Jay being there just as much as Jay depended on him. "It was…a little over a year. Maybe 14 months? So, I guess not that long. But, we were always together. He was one of the few constant factors in my life."

Bradley shrugged. "So, why'd he leave?"

A pain rose in Tim's throat, like a weight was pressing there – not enough to choke him, but enough to be very uncomfortable. Tim swallowed in an attempt to relieve the tension, but to no avail. "He, uh, he died." Tim became very interested in the glass coffee table. "Jay died, not long ago."

"Oh." Bradley looked down at his hands for a moment, then back over to Tim. "Jesus, that's rough. I…I'm sorry." He gripped Tim's shoulder, rubbing his thumb in a circle there. It felt oddly intimate to Tim, but that must be a regular thing for Bradley, he guessed. Bradley seemed the type to show feelings with actions rather than words.

Tim curled and uncurled the toes of his right, socked foot on the dense carpet. "Thanks for the sympathy."

Bradley took his hand back, then quietly clapped them together in his lap. "Uh, can I ask what happened, or is it still too delicate for that?"

Thinking about the footage of Jay's death brought back the strangling feeling Tim experienced seconds before. This time, he rubbed his throat, then his face. The cold stare on Alex's face as he pointed that gun at Jay; Jay's whimpers of pain as he hid from his friend, turned evil; that _thing _taking him away. With a pained laugh, Tim finally choked out, "Freak accident."

Bradley didn't pry into Tim's past anymore after that. He must've thought the experience was horrifying enough without having to relive it. He was right.

Tim applied for work at a few different places: a gas station, the same diner where he'd met Bradley, and the local supermarket. This town was so small, Tim didn't have many options for employment. The gas station wasn't looking for anyone to hire. The supermarket denied him because his résumé detailed all the times he'd been fired. Unreliable, that's what Tim was. The diner turned him away after asking about a medical history (probably because he acted suspiciously, and he was obviously a stranger to the town) led to learning that Tim had been in and out of clinics as long as he could remember. Damaged goods, that's all Tim was.

With a stroke of luck, Tim finally found work at the funeral parlor. The old woman who ran the business, Ms. Tucker, didn't ask to see a résumé. She needed a strong pair of arms, and that was something Tim could provide. Tim hated it, but at least it was work. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on other things, Tim constantly saw one of his old friends when someone rolled in a new customer.

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><p>It was a Tuesday when Tim finally fell apart. This was the beginning of his third week working at Tucker Funeral Home, and Tim was emotionally exhausted. He placed a check on the counter for Bradley – his half of the rent. They'd been living together for a little over a month now, and Bradley had covered the rent the first time it came up due, but Tim was determined to pay his half now, despite Bradley saying it was fine to wait a little longer. It seemed as though Bradley was surprised Tim found work so soon.<p>

Tim went to his room, changing into comfortable clothes: gray t-shirt, black sweats. Bradley wouldn't be home for a couple of hours, and this was the time each day Tim spent attempting to relax. Lately, Tim had been devoting a lot of thought to the _Marble Hornets_ videos. He was considering getting rid of everything: deleting the videos, the channel, the Twitter account, all of it.

It was supposed to be over now. Only he and Jessica were left. What was the point of hanging onto everything? Tim had thrown away all the tapes before leaving Alabama. He only kept Jay's camera, because he couldn't will himself to part with it. It was stupid, and Tim knew it was. Still, any time he thought about throwing the old camera in the trash, something funny happened to his heart – like a twisting, wringing feeling – and he placed it back in his dresser.

There was a part of Tim that was afraid Jay's family would wonder what had happened to him, and that, maybe, they'd remember Alex and Tim and try to contact them for answers. Maybe they'd look up things relating to _Marble Hornets_ in hopes of finding Alex's email address, or something of the like. Maybe they'd find the channel, and the videos. Maybe they'd see their son's death, and how Tim ran.

The thought caused Tim to collapse to the floor in tears. He desperately tried to keep himself from convulsing, pressing his forehead into the carpet. Tim held himself, blubbering like a child as tears stained his cheeks. He started coughing – though not as violently as he was used to – and rolled onto his side.

Why did it have to end like this, with everyone dead but him, the one that started it all? Tim was to blame, so why had he been spared? Jay and Brian had been the closest things Tim had ever had to friends, to a family. He'd killed Brian, and he'd abandoned Jay. "Jay, oh god, Jay." Tim would've rather died than lost Jay.

"_Everyone is dead, because of you!"_

Tim started a new batch of tears, crumpling in on himself. He should've burned to death like Alex asked him to. Then maybe that _thing _would have left for good. But as Tim lay there, swept away in his misery, one thought finally dawned on him: even if he _had _burned to death, it would've been too late for Jay. There was nothing Tim could have done to save Jay.

After laying there for God knows how long, Tim picked himself up. He hated to think about it at a time like this, but crying could be exhausting, and now he was hungry. As if on cue, Bradley's keys jingled in the door, and he walked in with a big brown bag. It emitted the aroma of fast food burgers, and there was a grease stain at the bottom of the bag, hinting at fries that had been spilled. Bradley probably noticed Tim's puffy eyes and solemn look, but said nothing. Again, Tim was grateful.

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><p>Bradley had a guitar that he played sometimes. It was a beautiful instrument: electric blue, shimmering even though it looked kinda old. Usually, when Bradley decided to play it, he'd go in his room and close the door, turn the amp down as far as he could, and play quietly.<p>

That night, after they'd finished their lovely dinner, Bradley retreated to his room, closing his door like normal. Tim had always wanted to mention that it wouldn't bother him if Bradley played louder, and that he didn't have to hide with his guitar. Hearing Bradley play usually reminded Tim of his old house, and the small music room where he liked to hang out with Alex and Brian. These memories weren't painful. Tim sometimes found himself chuckling when he thought of Alex attempting to play his keyboard.

As Tim passed Bradley's room on his way to his own, he could hear Bradley's guitar faintly through the door. He decided to pause, and listen for a moment. There was something else with the guitar, but Tim couldn't quite tell what it was. A few more seconds of eavesdropping led Tim to believe – _'Is Bradley singing?'_

Tim pressed his ear to the door, and in fact heard very quiet singing. _"One, 21 guns. Lay down your arms, give up the fight. One, 21 guns. Throw up your arms into the sky, you and I."_

Tim smiled, and thought, _'Green Day. Nice.' _Without considering the consequences, Tim knocked twice, then froze. The music behind the door stopped, and Tim swallowed nervously. Maybe this was a mistake. What was he going to say?

Then Bradley opened the door, a sheepish smile on his face. "Hey Tim. Am I playing too loud?" He shoved his hands into his pockets, a gesture he always used when he was feeling shy. So, that's why he didn't play in front of Tim? He was shy about it? Maybe he didn't think he was any good. Tim would beg to differ.

Not sure what to say at first, Tim cleared his throat before responding, "You play well, dude." Then they were both quiet, and Tim half smiled, telling him, "I _may _have heard a little when I was walking by your door. It's a good song, and you play it well."

Yep, Bradley was definitely embarrassed. He sighed a laugh, then looked down at the carpet. "Uh, thanks, Tim. Nice of you to say. It's just a hobby, y'know?"

Tim nodded. "Were you singing, too?" he asked. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to see if Bradley would admit it.

Bradley just nodded, then made a sound that definitely said _oh god, how embarrassing. _"Yeah, uh," he shrugged, "not something I usually do."

With a little laugh that threw Bradley off a bit, Tim stated, "Hey, you're better than you think." They were silent again for a moment, then Tim idled back to the guitar that lay abandoned on Bradley's bed. "Well, you gonna keep playing?"

Bradley looked a bit like a kid as he peered over his shoulder, back at his guitar. "Umm, I was going to." He turned back to Tim. "Did…are you saying you wanna listen more?"

Pursing his lips, Tim replied, "Well, you can either let me in, or I'll be standing outside your door again."

Bradley really did have a nice voice. Tim was able to get a much better opinion of the music now that it didn't come in muffled waves through the door. Tim sat in Bradley's desk chair, just watching Bradley as he started to play again from his bed. Surprisingly, Bradley had to watch his fingers on the chords as he played. Perhaps he hadn't been playing too long. Or, maybe he was just avoiding eye contact with Tim.

He started where he had left off to answer the door, licking his lips before he began to strum the guitar. _"When you're at the end of the road, and you've lost all sense of control, and your thoughts have taken their toll; when your mind breaks the spirit of your soul. Your faith walks on broken glass, and the hangover doesn't pass. Nothing's ever built to last. You're in ruins."_

Tim sat quietly, just watching and listening to Bradley until the song was over. Bradley played flawlessly, and Tim was a little surprised that he could sing the high notes without struggle. He thought that Bradley probably felt better, not having to be hushed. "Man, you should do that for a living," Tim informed him with a little smile.

Bradley laughed, pulling off his guitar strap and turning off his amp. "Thanks. Uh, I just started learning that song like a week ago." His smile died down a bit as he placed his guitar on its stand. "It reminded me of you."

Tim's face fell slightly. "What do you mean?"

As Bradly put away his amp, he answered, "I just mean…well, it feels like you've been through a lot. I mean, I don't know what the extent is, but… Just forget it."

A few seconds passed, then Tim stood, leaving the room. Back on his own bed, he stared up at the ceiling, thinking over the lyrics. "Shit." Bradley was right; it sounded too much like Tim.

Later that night, Tim once again considered deleting everything related to _Marble Hornets. _There was nothing stopping him. Why should he keep it all? What was the point? Jay had made everything so "people would know." Well, now they knew. Tim cringed, thinking about how many people were aware of all his dirty secrets, and how he was the cause of so many deaths. They saw how Tim ran away from it all.

Tim sat staring at the _Marble Hornets _YouTube page. He could get rid of it all. The staring contest continued for a few minutes, before Tim closed Jay's laptop with a sigh, placing it on the nightstand beside his bed. He pulled his lamp's chain, and curled up on his side, prepared to leave this day behind him.

This was always the worst part of his night. When he was laying there in the dark, Tim's mind always wandered to Jay, and how this is just what it used to be like. They would lay in their separate beds, and Tim would stare at the ceiling most of the night. Usually, if he glanced over at Jay, he was still awake too, looking at the red light of the camera. It made Tim wonder how much sleep either of them really got each night.

For some reason, Tim then thought about Jessica. He hadn't talked to her since he left Alabama. He wondered how she was doing, and if she wondered the same about him. Maybe he should call her, just to check on things. Tim mentally slapped himself the second that thought crossed his mind. It was _over_. He and Jessica had no connection anymore. Still, he hated the fact that she'd stayed in Alabama. What if that _thing _came after her again? Or, would it leave her alone now that Tim had cut ties with her?

Tim blew some air up towards his forehead in an attempt to brush the bangs from his eyes. With everything that had been happening in the past few years, it'd been hard to reserve time for haircuts. Near the end, Jay cut Tim's hair a few times. He recalled the first time Jay offered to cut his hair, and how Tim protested, saying Jay would cut it unevenly on purpose, or something. Of course, he trusted Jay more than anyone in the world. It actually wound up being incredibly relaxing to have Jay cut his hair. Those were some of Tim's favorite moments.

Many memories swam through Tim's mind before he finally fell asleep, sometime around 1 o'clock AM.

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><p><strong>AN: **Seriously, go look up the lyrics to "21 Guns" by Green Day, and tell me that song isn't perfect for Tim. I had to include it; I had to let that point be known.


	2. Wednesday

**A/N: **I think a few little parts of this chapter could be confusing, and I apologize for that. This chapter just kind of spewed out of me, and it was hard for me to wrangle my thoughts.

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><p><em>Light breaking through the tree branches above them gave a heavenly glow to everything below, like streams of pure sunshine threading through cracks in a jade vase. Birds chirped faintly, but it all felt muddled against the sound of Jay's heartbeat. That constant <em>thump thump_ing made Tim so content that he could easily fall asleep. But, he was already asleep, wasn't he? This must be a dream; it was too nice to be reality. Jay's heartbeat was too nice to be reality._

_ Tim was broken from his thoughts when Jay's slim fingers glided through his hair. "You're getting shaggy again. I should cut your hair tonight." Jay's smile was nearly audible, and it made Tim sigh happily._

_ Even though Jay was bony, his chest made a comfortable pillow as they lay diagonally from each other on the forest floor. Where Jay's legs were crossed at the ankle, Tim's were spread lazily, his left foot almost touching Jay's leg. Jay reached his free hand down in a silent request, and Tim reciprocated, ensnaring Jay's fingers in his own._

_ Nervously, Tim cleared his throat. "Jay?" The other man hummed in reply, so Tim took a deep breath. "I've been thinking, and…well, I really like it when you cut my hair." He waited for a response, but there was none, probably because he was stating a very obvious fact that needed no answer. "And…Jay?" Jay shifted slightly underneath him, perhaps to indicate that he was still awake._

_ Tim licked his lips, his breath shuddering slightly. "How…how would you feel about cutting my hair forever?" He turned his head on Jay's chest, a gesture that normally should've tickled the small man underneath him, but Jay remained silent for some time._

_ "What are you trying to ask, Tim?" Jay never let Tim have any fun. It was always 'get to the point' with Jay._

_ There was a grunt of disapproval when Tim sat up, turning to look down at Jay. Tim narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. He was considering the effect his next question might have, but he guessed that there was no better way to find out than to just ask Jay. "I'm asking, what if you were just with me forever?"_

_ Jay's eyes widened slightly, and then…_

There was nothing.

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><p>Tim had dreams about Jay often, but usually they entailed running, chasing, and Rosswood Park. They could've very well been at Rosswood in this dream, although Tim wanted to doubt it because of how calm he felt in the dream. It was probably the first time he'd had a romantic dream about Jay since before he died.<p>

But, the moment was over. Now, it was time to get up and start another day. Tim dreaded it, he really did. He climbed out of bed before his alarm was set to go off, and decided to cancel the alarm early. There was no way he was going back to sleep now. If he tried to lay back down and chase the dream of Jay, something bad would most likely happen.

Tim shuffled out to the kitchen to prepare something for breakfast. Bradley was still asleep; he didn't usually head to work until a little later. Tim knew that Bradley took some classes at a local community college three days a week, and that he had a job, but he couldn't recall what Bradley studied or what he did for employment. He was tempted to ask, but that may come off as rude, if he couldn't remember anything Bradley had told him about his personal life.

After settling on having a couple of toaster waffles and a glass of orange juice, Tim went to take his shower. He hated morning showers, but it was his only choice. He tended to wake up sweating from his newest nightmare, and didn't want to receive any weird looks from Ms. Tucker if he came into work a little smelly.

Regretfully, Tim started thinking about Jay again while he was in there. What would Jay's answer have been? As if he ever would've had the balls to ask something like that in real life. He tried to imagine Jay letting out a shaky laugh, and then saying _'okay,' _because the little twerp would probably be too shocked to have a poetic answer. Tim at least hoped he would have given a positive response.

Tim's soft smile faded when he realized what these thoughts were doing to his body. He grumbled to himself, and tried to shove the ideas away. Tim hadn't actually touched himself in a _long _time, and for some reason it felt wrong to start now. There were a lot of things that Tim had stopped doing after Jay died. Could it be called necrophilia, if Tim was still having these thoughts about someone who was dead? Maybe nostalgia was a better term.

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><p>Tim showed up at work just a little late: 8:07 am. He was hoping no one would say anything, but of course, the second he came through the door, Ms. Tucker's son, Keith, was waiting. "You're late," Keith alerted him with crossed arms.<p>

"Oh bite me, Keith," Tim spat, hanging his jacket on the coat rack. Yeah, it was late July, but it was chilly that morning. "Did Ms. Tucker say anything yet?"

Keith shook his head. "Nah, she hasn't noticed. She doesn't notice anything." Unlike most everyone else in that little town, Keith was pretty laid back around Tim. He'd been adopted by Ms. Tucker when she was going through that whole 'mid-life crisis' shit. Must've been weird, because now Keith was in his early twenties with a mom in her late sixties. Or was that normal? Tim couldn't even remember how old his mom was. He hadn't talked to her in years.

Either way, Keith knew what it felt like to be an outsider. He showed Tim the ropes of embalming, and never made Tim do too much. Tim was still new to the job, so Keith had empathy for him. It was easy to tell Tim had been through a lot. Every time their newest project was a young man, Tim got twitchy. And it wasn't that Tim couldn't handle the sight of any gashes or bruises. Tim never looked at the face of any man that was rolled in.

Today, the first order of business was a young car crash victim. Keith read aloud from a clipboard: "Wesley Richards, 19 years old." He usually _blah, blah, blah_ed over the parts that described how tall the person was, how much they weighed, and where they were from. He stuck to the juicy stuff. "Died today at 1:24 am in a car wreck, thought to be caused by inebriation and obstructed vision." He folded his clipboard under his arm. "Practically flew off the road and hit a goddamned tree."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "What was that last part about? Obstructed vision?"

"Oh, yeah," Keith mumbled, flipping through the papers on his clipboard. "He came with a picture." Pulling off a sheet, he showed it to Tim. "Guess he was wearing this while he was driving. Stupid kids."

Everything stopped. Tim trembled, just staring at the paper Keith held. On it were two pictures, both of the boy's face. In the first picture, Wesley was wearing a mask, and in the second, the mask was on the gurney next to his head so that his face could be exposed.

Tim couldn't breathe, because he knew the mask all too well. While it wasn't his own, it was, what appeared to be, a fan-made duplicate of Tim's mask that he sometimes wore in the _Marble Hornets _videos. Wesley had even covered his eyelids in black greasepaint, which was washed off now. Those hollow, black eyes cut through Tim. He was deflating into himself like a balloon with dozens of needlepoint holes in his skin.

Keith had to ask Tim if he was okay four times before Tim finally heard him. "Huh?" Tim looked up at Keith, who had a hand on his shoulder, and slightly widened eyes to accompany his concerned expression. Tim glued his eyes to the floor, avoiding the pictures of Wesley. "I have to go," he whispered, turning and heading down the hall.

Keith followed him out. "Wait, hold on a sec." He jogged slightly to catch Tim, who was fast walking towards the back exit. "What's wrong? Did you know him or something?"

Tim nearly ripped his jacket yanking it off the coatrack. "I just have to go. Tell your mom I'm sorry, and that I'll work overtime or something, but I've gotta go." With that, he was gone. Seconds after slamming his way into his car, Tim let loose ragged gasps. A few panicked cries escaped his throat, and he folded, covering his face with his shaking hands.

This was Tim's fault. He knew the _Marble Hornets _channel had only grabbed more attention as the years went on. They had a pretty large fan base – something that had excited Jay, but always frightened Tim. Even after Tim stopped making videos, he still received emails almost daily. He read every single one. Sometimes they were letters of sympathy, wondering how Tim was doing, how he was handling Jay's death. Those emails almost made Tim happy.

Majority of the messages were from what he assumed were gullible teenagers, convinced that the _thing _that had ruined Tim's life was now targeting them. In the beginning, Tim considered the possibility of whatever had been following him had started to follow someone new, but there were just _too many _emails. Tim had to make himself believe that all the letters were from paranoid fans, who were perhaps hopeful to start an "adventure" of their own. He didn't want to think that anyone else was being targeted now that he'd left Alabama.

But Tim never thought that things would get this far. He didn't remember any emails detailing someone thinking they were turning into a mask-wearing, mindless stalker like Tim had once been. If it was a conscious action, what would drive someone to make a mask like Tim's, and wear it around? There was nothing fun about Tim's condition, or the things that he had done and been through when he wasn't in his right state of mind. He momentarily remembered having his leg smashed, and waking up in so much pain, unable to recall what'd happened.

The messages, the mask Wesley wore, it was just crazed adoration, that's all Tim could think. Somehow, the fans started to become obsessed with Jay's videos. It seemed likely, when he thought about how consumed Jay had been with filming himself and analyzing the footage again and again. Did this also mean that fans were putting on masks, like Wesley had, and running through the woods with a camera, hoping to catch sight of the being that tormented Tim and his friends for so long? He wondered what Jay would think of all of this.

This had to stop; Tim was sure of it now. It was time to get rid of everything. Not just the videos, not just the Twitter, but Jay's laptop, his camera, everything. He never wanted to remember any of this ever again. He was sick of revisiting the twisted portions of his life every time he closed his eyes. He was even tired of daydreams of Jay, and clinging to the hope that he was still alive somewhere. None of it was healthy, and it was time it all stopped.

Tim sped home, stumbling a little as he headed upstairs to the apartment he and Bradley shared. His first try at the lock failed, and he wasn't sure why. The key wouldn't turn for some reason. "Come on, dammit." He tried and tried again before pulling the key out to examine it. Then, realization hit him. This was his old house key.

After putting the correct key in the lock, Tim charged into the apartment, leaving his keys dangling in the door. Bradley was still asleep, from what Tim could tell (his car was still parked downstairs). Tim tried not to disturb him, but at the same time, he wasn't awfully quiet. He went to his room, pulling his backpack out of the closet and throwing it on the bed. He slipped Jay's laptop into the bag, then went to his dresser.

Tim stared at Jay's camera for a long time. He turned it over in his hands, again and again, just studying it. This camera had been through a lot; it had seen so much. There was a strip of duct tape peeling off the back of the camera, over the battery pack. One of the times that Jay had been running through the woods and fell down, the battery flew out of the back, and ever since then, it didn't like to stay in straight. Jay refused to get a new camera, so duct tape became the solution.

Tracing his fingers over the tape, Tim could only think of Jay. He had been so angry while he laid this duct tape, but Tim remembered laughing the first time he saw it. "You know, I could just buy you a new camera," Tim had informed him.

Jay only shook his head. "No. This is my camera. I'm never getting rid of it." Money hadn't been the issue – it was sentimentality.

Jesus, Jay had treated this camera like it was his child. He thought of how possessive Jay's relationship had been with the camera, but then he reflected on the fact that keeping Jay's camera for so long could be thought of in the same way. Tim rubbed a hand over his temple, then gingerly placed Jay's camera in the backpack.

Well, this was it. Tim zipped up the bag, then took it out to the kitchen and put it on the table by the window. He headed back to his room, closing the door behind him. Tim knew that Bradley was asleep, but he couldn't take any chances. He knelt down and reached under his nightstand, where he sighed at the feeling of more duct tape.

He quietly pulled the tape off the bottom of his nightstand. Attached to it was an old wallet and his trusty bottle of pills. The wallet had about $150 stashed inside – not much, but, hopefully, combined with the money he had in his current wallet, it would be enough gas money to make it to and from Tuscaloosa. Tim's pill bottle still had about six pills left, and that would have to do. It was his wishful thinking that everything would go smoothly when he returned to Alabama – no encounters with the tall _thing_, no running out of gas and being stuck on the side of the road_. _The thought crossed his mind of being stuck and having to call Bradley for help. He would have to explain everything, and that wasn't something Tim wanted to do.

After depositing the wallet and pill bottle in his back pockets, he went back out to the kitchen and took a paper plate from next to the microwave. He wrote on it with black sharpie: _Bradley, had some things to take care of. Don't know when I'll be back, but don't worry._ Tim left his note propped up on the stovetop, reading over it a few times in his head. Did it sound too suspicious? _'Nah,' _Tim thought. If anything, the note fit his personality – vague and worrisome.

Tim picked up the backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, giving the apartment one last look over. The thought crossed his mind that it could be a long time before he came back – if he ever came back at all. He wanted to shake that feeling away, tell himself that everything was going to be fine, but still, the thought gnawed at the edges of his brain. On an impulse, he rubbed the back of his head, as if that would make the feeling pass.

With a heavy sigh, Tim left, pulling his keys out of the lock. He examined his old house key, and visions of Alex burning down his home flooded his thoughts. Tim quickly set down his backpack, winding the key off of his key ring. No point in hanging onto this any longer; that house had burned down months ago. He tossed it in a small front pocket of the backpack, zipping it closed. He felt slightly numb, but that was probably a good thing.

Tim sat in his car for a minute, just staring at his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel. Part of him wondered, _'Why am I even doing this? What will this solve?' _But Tim knew better. The camera had been a part of Jay, an extension of his vision. To simply throw it away was to throw away a part of Jay like he was trash, and Tim could never think of him that way. Even that night when Tim caught Jay in the face with a right hook, he couldn't think so lowly of Jay.

So, instead of throwing away the last piece of Jay, Tim only thought it would be right to put it to rest. Hopefully, that would bring an end to the nightmares, the endless thoughts of Jay, and, maybe, it would bring some justice to what happened to Wesley Richards. This was for Tim, too. This was closure.

Tim needed to get out of his own head. He plugged his iPod into the…well, whatever the hell you call the thing in the radio you hook your iPod into. Tim didn't give a damn anymore. He was done thinking. He switched on "Super Beast" by Rob Zombie, blasting it as loud as he could, and started on his way to Tuscaloosa. Tim still remembered the way without a map.

* * *

><p>It was a nine hour drive to Tuscaloosa. Tim only had to stop twice – just one of those times being to get gas, the other to get a new pack of cigarettes – which was a good thing. He was eager to get this over with. Tim glanced at the clock on his dashboard and sighed, turning down the radio. At least the time zones weren't different, and it wasn't dark yet.<p>

It was a little after 4:30 pm when Tim pulled up in the parking lot of Rosswood Park. He put the car in park, and immediately felt a frog climb up his throat. He also had a headache from blasting his music during the whole drive. Tim glanced to the passenger seat, at the backpack he'd brought along.

First step: Take out Jay's laptop, and delete all the accounts.

He was hesitant as he pulled out Jay's laptop, pushing it open and hearing it whir to life. Tim constantly checked every window. He wasn't sure who he expected to see, but he was just glad there was no one out there – at least as far as he could tell. Once Jay's computer started up, Tim opened Firefox. For lots of dumb reasons, Jay only trusted Firefox. Tim had tried to convince him to get Chrome, but Jay argued that Google couldn't be trusted, because it was everywhere and people used it for everything.

There was a slight pang of something unidentifiable that fluttered in Tim's chest when Jay's computer automatically connected to the Wi-Fi. He thought of Jay sitting here late at night, uploading his newest entry, updating his Twitter, maybe playing games or watching funny videos to pass the time and calm his nerves. He remembered how hurt he'd felt to learn that Jay was sleeping in his car.

Tim shook himself in an effort to refocus. First, the YouTube page would go. That felt all too easy to Tim now. He still had all the videos saved on Jay's computer, and he was debating whether or not to get rid of those as well. When the YouTube page was gone, Tim felt the nervous creature that was nesting his his chest fly away, and he breathed. He simply sat there and breathed. It was nice.

The Twitter page was harder for Tim. Not because it was any more difficult figuring out how to delete it, but because these pages were filled with Jay's words. Tim skimmed over some of the entries. These were like excerpts from Jay's diary. Though every entry was short, they were some of Jay's last words. He read over some of them out loud to himself. "October 13, 2013: Tim, if you can see this, we need to talk." Tim saw a reply from someone which read: _Is everything okay? Is he answering his phone or did you try? _Tim read aloud Jay's answer. "Didn't answer." He scrolled more, trying not to think too much. "September 12, 2013: Just watched the tape. Things aren't good right now. Need sleep. Uploading entry 76 later tonight."

Tim put his head in his hands, thinking, _'Yeah, Jay, things aren't good right now, either.'_ Scroll, scroll. "September 3, 2013: I can't help but think, what if Tim WAS hiding it for a reason and I'm better off not watching it? Or was he just lying to cover for himself." Tim half smiled, despite himself, thinking about how different things would've been had Jay never watched that tape of Jessica.

That was enough. Tim noticed that some people were already on Twitter complaining about the YouTube channel going up in smoke. Tim clicked his tongue and shrugged before deleting the Twitter page as well. _Marble Hornets _was no more. But this time, instead of that feeling of being able to breathe again, Tim felt guilty. _Extremely _guilty. He tried telling himself this was all for the best, but now he was having doubts.

First step: complete.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I can't believe there's already a review for this. That's kinda mind-blowing to me. I welcome you to the wall of fame!

Wall of Fame

ThatIsMyFullName

Thanks so much for your review. It was the first thing I saw this morning and I was practically shivering with excitement over it. And I'm glad you enjoy Bradley. I know many people tend to have issues with OC's.


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